


You Don't Need To Surrender

by laireshi



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, M/M, Past HydraCap, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-27 15:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17164310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: There's a reason why Tony knows so well what Steve likes in bed, but Steve does not remember what Hydra Cap did. He's just happy to finally be with Tony.





	You Don't Need To Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cap Iron Man Community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cap+Iron+Man+Community).



> For the following prompt: "Steve has no memory of what HydraCap did, so when Steve and Tony get together, he's amazed at how well Tony can guess what he likes in bed."

Kissing Steve is easy.

He hasn’t done a lot of that, _then_ , and the sensations are almost all completely new: the gentle way Steve holds his face between his hands, how he sucks of Tony’s lower lip before letting go, how he still ends up chasing Tony’s lips like he can never get enough of him.

Tony clings to him and clutches at his arms and never wants to let go, either.

He’s loved Steve for so long. He never thought they could have a chance together— _he loved you_ , someone told him, a lie designed to hurt—but then Steve went and surprised him again, held his hand and asked Tony out on a date.

Tony’s still almost convinced it’s a dream.

(Shame that he knows that the nightmare was all real.)

Steve fumbles with Tony’s trousers button and Tony freezes.

“Shit, sorry.” Steve backs off immediately. “I—”

“It’s okay,” Tony says, because moments ago they were both panting and Steve had his tongue halfway down Tony’s throat. There was nothing to misconstrue there. 

Steve gently, so very gently holds Tony’s wrists. “I didn’t want to surprise you. I’m okay waiting.”

And Tony knows what he should do: he should go to his knees and open Steve’s fly and convince him it’s fine, really, Tony’s not broken, it’s _fine—_

Steve pulls him in for a hug instead, and Tony melts into his embrace, and they don’t talk about it more that night. They watch Star Wars together and make out and lie close, but that’s it.

Tony’s safe.

***

Tony’s pathetic.

He loves Steve and Steve loves him and he knows everything is well. Steve will never harm him. 

Which is why the next time they have a dinner date Tony buys candles and sets them in his bedroom, and when they make it back to the Tower, he activates the little bot he’s prepared to light them moments before Tony and Steve fall in through the door, wrapped up in each other. 

Tony takes Steve’s clothes off, slides out of his own before Steve can try to help, and he pushes Steve to the bed. Steve doesn’t protest, his eyes blown wide in arousal. 

Tony knows how to take it from here.

He sucks Steve off, using every trick he knows, and he focuses on the way his limbs aren’t aching, on how Steve’s not pulling on his hair, not thrusting into his throat harder than Tony can take. He ignores Steve’s warning, and he swallows when Steve comes, and then he presses his forehead to Steve’s stomach to hide his face.

He’s not even hard himself.

“ _Wow_ ,” Steve says over him breathlessly. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

Tony digs his fingers into his palm, hard.

Steve’s breathing calms down, and then he reaches for Tony. “Let me—”

“It’s okay,” Tony says, ducking his head away again. “I, uh—” He picks an excuse that might’ve been true _before_. “I’m, ah, I really liked blowing you.”

“Oh.” Steve grins. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve heard.”

Relaxed, Tony lets himself be pulled into an embrace. Steve’s happy and sated. He’s not damaged like Tony is.

When Steve falls asleep, Tony slips out of his arms and locks himself in the bathroom. He runs the shower, and he sits on the floor under the hot water, and he shivers.

He touches his neck; a phantom pain like a memory of five fingers strangling the oxygen out of him unwilling to fade away.

***

It’s okay after that. They go to museums, they spar together, Steve tries to make Tony’s favourite cake and burns it horribly, and Tony kisses him and says he could eat stale bread, if only Steve’s near.

It’s the happiest moments of Tony’s life, everything he’s ever wanted come true.

At night, he sees the man with Steve’s face throwing him down and fucking him, and he wakes up feeling dirty and broken, and he doesn’t sleep again.

Steve is nothing like him. Steve is bright and warm and loving. Steve deserves better than Tony.

Tony should let him go. But he’s selfish. He wants just a moment more of happiness.

***

Steve never pushes him into sex even though Tony can feel just how interested he is every time their bodies press together when they make out. Still, Tony knows Steve won’t wait forever. 

“I think you should fuck me,” he says one evening, and Steve says, “ _Yes_ ,” almost before Tony finishes speaking. 

Tony’s prepared himself—Steve _wouldn’t_ hold him down and push into him dry, he’s almost certain, and he hates himself for this little _almost_ , for thinking Steve could be anything like the other man.

He strips and presents himself to Steve, and Steve follows suit. Tony puts lube on his fingers and strokes Steve to hardness, certain of what he likes, the angle and the pace, and Steve’s breath picks up, little gasps leaving his mouth.

“I’m ready,” he says when Steve reaches for the lube, clearly intending to stretch Tony.

“You—”

“I didn’t want to wait,” Tony says, and Steve’s skin is flushed and his eyes are dark: he _likes_ the idea.

Steve touches Tony then, and that too is new, his grip uncertain and testing. Tony grows hard in his hand, but he keeps his eyes closed because the image of Steve leaning over him is familiar and terrifying.

But this is _Steve_. He wants the best for Tony. Tony can do it for him.

“Come on,” Tony says, “Get in me.”

Steve moves, and he lines up and presses against Tony’s entrance. 

Tony can do it. 

Steve pushes into him, just the tip, and Tony bites on his lip, hard. It doesn’t _hurt_. It’s all different.

“Look at me,” Steve says, and Tony immediately opens his eyes wide, because he knows what’ll happen if he won’t—

Steve, strong and naked and about to fuck Tony, and Tony’s terrified and he _can’t do it_.

But Steve will only make him if Tony fights, so he forces himself to keep completely still, only he keeps biting on his lip, and . . .

Steve backs away in horror, fast, and Tony winces as he slides out, and then he doesn’t understand, because Steve keeps taking steps away from him, and why does he do that, is he looking for something else to hurt Tony with . . . 

“Tony,” Steve says, very, very slowly, two syllables pronounced as if it was a long word. “What’s wrong?”

“Please don’t,” Tony whispers, unsure what’s happening. Steve never asked before.

Steve shakes his head. He looks around, but Tony doesn’t dare take his eyes off him to see what Steve is looking at. And then Steve picks up a blanket, and approaches Tony again, just long enough to throw it over his body. He pulls on his trousers next.

And then he stands there, no longer naked, but terribly still.

 _Steve_ , Tony thinks. _His Steve_. And then he understands what’s just happened. _Oh no_.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in a small voice. “Please don’t—don’t throw me away—I’m okay, I swear—”

Steve looks at him, uncomprehending. “You bit through your lip,” he says, and oh, yes, now that he said it, Tony can taste blood. “You were—you _are_ terrified. Should I leave? Will that be better?”

Tony shakes his head quickly. He sits up and pulls the blanket to his chin. He wants to erase the last hour, this whole disaster.

He could tell Steve to go now and Steve would listen. But Tony knows the questions would still come, later, and maybe it’s better to tear the bandaid off in one go. He’s already naked and shivering. It can’t get _more_ humiliating. 

“Then what do I do?” Steve asks. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Tony whispers. “I—I wanted to make it good for you.”

“Good for me?” Steve repeats. “Tony, it’s not about _me_. I don’t care about getting off. I want _you_ to be okay. Did someone . . .”

Tony doesn’t want him to finish the question.

Steve goes white as a sheet suddenly. “That first time,” he says, his voice breaking. “You knew exactly what I like.”

Tony looks away.

“How did you . . .”

“You know already,” Tony snaps, because Steve’s not dumb.

“Did I hurt you?” Steve asks terribly quiet.

“It wasn’t you!”

“Might as well have been,” Steve says. “That Hydra version of me, he raped you.” It’s not a question. “How can you stand to look at me?”

“Because it wasn’t you,” Tony repeats, feeling hysterical. “You’re nothing like him. I love you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Steve says, “If that makes you try and—god, Tony, _why_ didn’t you say, why—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tony says in a small voice. “I wanted to be with you. I’m happy with you.”

“And you think I’d want you to force yourself to sleep with me?”

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers.

“ _You’re_ sorry?” Steve asks incredulously. “It’s not _your_ fault. I can’t believe I— _Tony_. I love you. I can’t do this to you.”

Tony’s eyes go wide. Steve can’t break up with him. He can’t. Tony can do everything for him, he can do better, he’ll be ready next time, he won’t freeze—

“Tony, stop talking like this,” Steve says with a horrified expression, and Tony realises he’s been babbling. “I don’t need to have sex with you to be in a relationship with you.” He exhales slowly. “But Tony, look me in the face and say you’re not scared of me.”

Tony fixes his gaze to the right of Steve. “I’m not.”

“ _Look me in the face_.”

Tony flinches, because Steve’s voice is an order and he can’t _not_ look at him, and he’s _terrified_.

He doesn’t want to lose Steve. He’s good at lying. He is. Steve knows that better than anyone. “I’m . . .” Tony can’t finish the sentence.

It’s his Steve. He knows it is. But _what if_?

Tony hangs his head low. He’s crying, but he doesn’t care.

“That’s what I thought,” Steve says. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

 _Wait_ , Tony wants to say, but he fails to articulate it again. He’s pathetic. Steve’s right to leave him.

The door closes behind Steve, and Tony breaks down in sobs.


End file.
